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A second time did Matthew stop,
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top
To me he made reply.---


• Yon cloud with that long púrple cleft Brings fresh into


mind • A day like this which have left Full thirty years behind.

And on that slope of springing corni « The self same crimson hue • Fell from the sky that April morn, - The same which now I view!

• With rod and line my silent sport • I plied by Derwent's wave, • And coming to the church, stopp'd short • Beside my daughter's grave.

· Nine summers had she scarcely seen; • The pride of all the vale; • And then she sang !-she would have been • A very nightingale.

• Six feet in earth my Emma lay,
• And yet I lov'd her more,
• For so it seem'd, than till that day
I e'er had loy'd before.

I 2

• And, turning from her grave, I met • Beside the church-yard Yew "A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew.

, A basket on her head she bear,
. Her brow, was smooth and white,
• To see a child so very fair,
• It was a pure delight!

No fountain from its rocky cave • E’er tripp'd with foot so free,

She seem'd as happy as a wave « That dances on the sea.

• There caine from me a sigh of pain
" Which I could ill confine;
• I look'd at her, and look'd again:
6-And did not wish her mine.'

Matthew is in his

grave, yet now
Methinks I see him stand,
As at that moment, with his bough
Of wilding in his hand.



A Conversation.

WE talk'd with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of Friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two!

We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat,
And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.

Now, Matthew, let us try to match
This water's pleasant tune
With some old Border-song, or Catch
That suits a summer's noon.

Or of the Church-clock and the Chimes
Sing, here beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes

you last April made!

On silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old Man replied,
The grey-hair'd Man of glee.-

“ Down to the vale this water steers, How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

“ And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot chuse but think
How oft, a vigorous Man, I lay
Beside this Fountain's brink.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr’d, For the same sound is in my ears, Which in those days I heard.

“ Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.

“ The black-bird in the summer trees, The lark upon the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, "Are quiet when they will.

" With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free: b...


“ But we are press'd by heavy laws,
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, becausei
We have been glad of yore.

“ If there is one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were his own,
It is the Man of Mirth.

“ My days, my friend, are almost gone,
My life has been approv’d,

me, but by none Am I enough belov'd !'

Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains !
I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains.

And Matthew, for thy Children dead
I'll be a son to thee!
At this he grasp'd his hands, and said,
“ Alas! that cannot be.”

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